


To What Do I Owe This Pleasure?

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Assault, Daredevil Spoilers, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Protective Daredevil, Protective Matt Murdock, Romance, Slow Burn, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Reader seeks out the expertise of Matt and Foggy for help pursuing a case against her abusive ex-husband, but inevitably falls in love with Matt. A warning: Mentions of rape and abuse, as well as a few scenes depicting an assault but nothing too explicit. Rated explicit for future chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

_You knew he was there before you saw him—the air was exceptionally cold as you stepped out of your steamy shower, and the cat you were sitting wasn’t waiting for you on your sink like usual. You smiled, wrapping the towel around your body before you set about taking care of your hair. You slipped into your pajama pants and sports bra before you stepped out of the bathroom. As you suspected, your bedroom window was open, letting in the cool fall air. You stepped through to your living room and beamed, folding your arms over your chest. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”_

__

__

_He had taken his mask and gloves off, standing in your hallway, the fat tabby cat in his arms cradled like a baby. He turned to look towards you and smiled, his unseeing eyes looking through you. He let the cat jump from his arms before he walked over to you and stopped a foot away. He reached down and took your hands in his, bringing them to his lips. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling. “Well I had to come see the birthday girl.”_

_You snorted but smiled. “Poor choice of words.” He chuckled then leaned forward and caught your lips in his. You sighed and moved your arms to slip around his neck, his stubble tickling your skin. He smelled as he normally did when he wore the suit—sweaty but not odorous, faint distinct metal tinges of blood though his or someone else’s you were never sure until you made it to the bed, then the soft hint of his body wash still upon his skin. You broke the kiss and put your forehead against his, running your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten,” you whispered. ‘One I never thought I’d get,’ you thought dismally._

Dating Matthew Michael Murdock was anything but easy, let alone how hard it had been to get to the actual dating part. 

You’d gone to the law offices of Nelson and Murdock some 17 months ago in June to hire the ambitious young lawyers as your defense team against an abusive (soon to be ex)husband. Your attraction to Matt was absolutely immediate. 

You hesitated outside the door, admittedly more than a little nervous to begin this process. Your husband was aggressive in his best of days, but if he knew where you were you were sure to be dead. With a determined sigh, you opened the door and stepped into the small office. There was no secretary, which you thought was weird, but after a moment a man entered the room. He was wearing a smart suit, his hair neatly coiffed. “Oh, hi there. Can I help you?” His smile was earnest and his expression was open. 

Your heart was pounding, the reality of what you were about to begin setting in. “I. Um. Well. No, I’m sorry, this was a mistake.” You’d turned to leave, but a second man had come in behind you, a pencil tipped cane in his hand. 

He was quite handsome. Smartly dressed, hair neat, blacked out glasses spotless. He smiled at you and your heart almost stopped before it began pounding for an entirely different reason. “I’m sorry, I’m blocking the door aren’t I?” He turned to step aside but you paused. 

Something in you knew that if you walked out that door, you would hate yourself for whatever small remainder of life you had left. You took in a deep, steadying breath before you shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. Uhm. I’m looking for Nelson and Murdock? The lawyers?” 

The first man walked over and beamed, clapping the blind man on the shoulder. “You’re looking at them. I’m Foggy Nelson, and this is Matt Murdock.” 

Matt removed his glasses then smiled and held his hand out to you, which you hesitantly took. As absolutely cliché as it is to say, his touch was electrifying, burning up your arm all the way to your elbow. You sucked in a breath and took him in. The way he smiled made his unseeing hazel eyes crinkle at the corners. His nose was perhaps a bit large and hooked down just a little, and his lips were wide with a wide Cupid’s bow. He wore a little bit of stubble, and his eyebrows were bushy but not grossly so. You realized you were blushing, your heart racing. For just a split second, you thought he might be listening to it, his head cocked ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptivity as if in concentration. It felt like both an eternity and a split second as you held his hand, but you suddenly realized that it was far too long to be socially acceptable. You dropped it with a start. “Sorry. I’m nervous. Um, I was hoping you guys could help me?” 

Foggy smiled and gestured towards another room. “We’ll certainly try, ma’am.” 

A pretty blonde woman walked in from a third room and paused when she saw you. She smiled brightly. “Who’s this?” 

Matt was folding up his cane and taking his coat off. “A potential client.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow then leaned in and asked in a “hushed” tone, “You aren’t going to pay us in chickens, are you?” 

You blinked in confusion but shook your head. “No, of course not. Chickens are for cable guys. I pay my lawyers in apple pies.” 

The laugh that came from Matt sent heat across your body, and you couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped your throat. Karen had laughed then told Matt and Foggy that she was going out and left. Matt came up beside you and, like Foggy had, gestured towards the second room, a kind smile on his face. You blushed again but nodded, allowing them to guide you to a room with a decent sized table. 

“Now then, how can we help you, Miss…?” Foggy was taking out a pad of paper and a tape recorder, and Matt sat down beside him. 

You cleared your throat and sat down across from them, the nervousness coming back. “Uh, Y/N Jennings. I—I know you guys are defense attorneys, but… Well, I was hoping you could help me press charges on my husband. A, a friend recommended you guys. Claire?” 

Matt nodded, but you noted his expression fell with your admission. Was he annoyed this wasn’t their typical kind of case? “Yes, Claire’s a good friend of ours. We’ll certainly do what we can to help.” 

Foggy kept his face pleasant and gestured towards the tape recorder. “Do you mind?” 

You shook your head and looked down at your hands folded in your lap. Foggy pressed record and Matt, gently, asked, “Please repeat your full name for our records.” You did so, and Matt leaned forward, putting his folded hands on the desk, everything about him gentle. His eyes, though unfocused, were kind and compassionate, pointed in your general direction. You couldn’t help stealing a glance or two. “You say you want to press charges against your husband?” 

A tear fell from your eye and you nodded, wiping it away quickly. “That’s correct.” 

Foggy was taking notes now. “What’s his name?” 

“Jeremiah Jennings.”

Matt leaned forward, his voice lowered, smooth, soft. “Is your husband abusive towards you?” 

You struggled to keep your voice from wavering. “Yes.” 

Foggy stood and left the room, but Matt continued. “I know it’s difficult to talk about, but the more we know, the better we can help you.” Foggy returned with a pitcher of water and three glasses. He filled them and dispersed them to each of you, and passed you a box of tissues from an end table.

“He uh…” You cleared your throat, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Shuffling in your seat, you thought about how to phrase it. It took you a while to find the strength to get the words out, but once you started, it got easier. You spared no detail, from the beatings to the rapes to the verbal abuse. Foggy looked positively nauseous by the time you were finished, but Matt kept his face carefully free of any emotion. The aura around him changed perceptively, though, and you knew that he was being affected by your words. “If… If Jeremiah knew I were here right now, that I’d told you any of this…” You swallowed hard, wiping your eyes for the hundredth time. 

Matt didn’t hesitate, reaching across the table to take your hand. There was strength in his voice and a hidden anger he hadn’t shown from his expression. “We will keep you safe. I swear it to you.” 

You couldn’t help the wavering smile that came across your face and you took a shaking breath, nodding. “Thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2:  Bathtubs and Armchairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this like 4 times trying to get the legality of it at least something mildly right? But I'm not a lawyer, so I'm sure part of it is wrong. What I did get from my "research" however is that if you're experiencing abuse, keep evidence and be as explicit as possible when dealing with professionals. 
> 
> Also, thank you for the kudos!!

Matt escorted you to a precinct to meet a friend of theirs, a Detective Mahoney. Together, the three of them helped you file assault charges against your husband, helped by the bruises you had blooming on your body both old and new, as well as the medical records you had scraped together over the years. A warrant was put out for his immediate apprehension, and a sense of vindication flooded you. It was too late to go to the courthouse that day, so Matt promised to take you tomorrow, so they could start filling out paperwork to get a restraining order put against Jeremiah. He and Foggy took you to a diner to go over the plan of the next few days. 

“Do you have anywhere to stay? Friends, relatives you can couch surf with?” 

You looked up from your coffee, feeling drained. There was a cracking in your tired voice. “No. There’s no one. I’m alone.” 

Matt nodded and clicked his jaw in thought. “There are some shelters, safe havens for women in your position, but given that this is New York and that it’s so late, they’re likely full up already for the night, not to mention it could be difficult to get a hold of you in an emergency. There are some motels in the area, a good distance from where you live, could be safe. Do you have cash? Your cards won’t be safe if he has access to that information.” 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t have cash, and all our cards are joint accounted.” With a heavy sigh, “I’m fucked, guys.” 

Matt shook his head, leaning forward. “No, you’re not fucked, not yet. You’ll stay with me. At least for tonight” 

Panic overtook you, admittedly with a bit of excitement, too, but you stood up. “No, please Mr. Murdock, I couldn’t impose on you like that. I…” You gnawed at your lip and fingered the inside of your sleeve, absently picking at loose threads.

Matt smiled gently. “It’s really no trouble at all. I have more than enough room.” He reached across the table as he had earlier but instead set his hand a short distance away from you, an earnest expression in his face. “I insist.”

Xxx

Matt’s apartment was…ridiculous. Even with Matt’s “hell of a discount” and whatever he saves on electricity with not having a TV and not needing the lights on, this place still had to have been an easy $300k. You’d tried not to let off how utterly shocked you were by the size of it, but Matt had noticed anyways. He’d walked over to where you stood in the living room, gawking, and smiled. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” You tried to play it off cool, but he just smiled at you and took his glasses off. You swallowed, staring out of the corner of your eye. Shit he was handsome. “Bathroom there, bedroom there. I’ll go scrounge up clean sheets in a second.”

You blinked and shook your head, throwing your hands up in defense. “No, please, Mr. Murdock, it’s bad enough I’m staying with you I couldn’t possibly take your bed.” 

He chuckled and walked off into the depths of the bedroom. He called back to you, “Trust me, it’s no big deal.” He came back with an armful of sheets, a towel, and some pajamas. “Some nights I prefer the couch, if I’m honest.” 

Something in his face, in his determined look told you that arguing was pointless. It seemed that arguing with Matthew Murdock was usually going to be pointless, at least at the rate things were going. With a sigh, you nodded. “Alright, alright. You win. Again.”

He smiled again and moved past you to the kitchen. “You go settle in, take a shower if you want. I’ll order some Thai.” 

So that was how you ended up sleeping in Matthew Murdock’s bed. Admittedly, it was extremely comforting knowing that he was nearby, that he was guarding you. Even though blind, he seemed far more than capable. At least, he was absolutely built for it, there could be no doubt about it. But even with knowing that Matt was there to protect you, that you were safe in a location your husband couldn’t possibly find, that you had actually gotten away, an irrational fear that he could still find you pervaded your mind, keeping you from sleep. 

Your phone, which had been placed on airplane mode with all forms of tracking turned off for your safety, glaringly told you that it was 1:19 in the morning. You’d been tossing and turning for what felt like days. With a frustrated sigh, you glared at the ceiling for a minute before you stood, gathering the pillow and the blanket. You padded as quietly as you could to the bathroom and, glancing that Matt was still asleep, you slipped inside and settled into the tub, cocooning yourself in the blanket. This wasn’t the first night you’d spent like this. On more than one occasion, you’d hidden yourself away in your own tub much like you had now after your husband went on one of his benders. The smaller space and the comfort of the blanket gave you a sense of security, a sense of peace, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to lull you into sleep.

It was about two hours later when Matt knocked on the door. You considered pretending not to be in there and also of jumping up, pretending that you weren’t hiding from your own imagination, but instead you told him to come in, and he did, concern written on his face. Despite their inability to focus, his eyes did nothing to hide the feelings he carried within him. He came and crouched beside the tub, his hands folded. “Comfortable?” he asked. 

Swallowing a rising lump in your throat, tears began to sting at your eyes. “I, uhm. I couldn’t sleep. I kept…I kept picturing him finding me, coming in through the window… Stupid, I know.”

Matt said nothing and after a moment got up and left the room. A hollow feeling crept into your bones, and you were almost about to start crying before you heard a rustling. An icy prickling burst along your skin, and fear filled your veins, images of your hulking husband kicking down the door springing to your mind. You ducked lower in the tub, peering over the edges, but Matt came back a moment later, his mattress in tow. He wedged it into the available floor space and threw down another pillow and blanket. He had a small radio with him that he turned on to a soft jazz station and set on the counter. With a soft smile in your direction, he shut and locked the door then sat with his back against it on the mattress. “Might as well be comfortable. I can’t imagine that tub is doing you any favors.” He gestured towards the open space beside him, everything in his expression soft, gentle, welcoming.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding before sitting up. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He chuckled and waved his hand nonchalantly. After a moment of consideration, you slinked out of the tub and settled beside him, head leaning against the door. “Thank you.” 

Matt turned to you and smiled, putting his hand near yours, almost touching. “Anytime.” The way he smiled at you made your heart flutter, and again you noticed his eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit. Your imagination really was getting the better of you tonight. You shut your eyes and just allowed yourself to feel the situation, the warmth of him beside you, the way your skin tingled next to his hand despite not even touching, the gentle way he smelled. It was the most pleasant you’d felt in a long time. At some point, you slipped into sleep, and part of you was vaguely aware of your leaning against him. 

You awoke alone, the bathroom door still shut but no longer locked. You’d been moved so that you were actually lying down now, the blanket tucked up around you, and part of you wondered if Matt had done it. The thought made you smile. There was a set of clothes laid out on the sink, a new toothbrush lying on top of them. You got up and dressed in them, a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. They smelled like Matt, and you had to resist the urge to bring them to your nose. It was more than enough to ease any inklings of fear you carried. As you finished brushing your teeth, the smell of food wafted through the bathroom door, and your stomach roared. Matt was in the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan, and you almost moaned as you took a seat at his bar. He served you a plate—an omelet with hash browns and sausage, and you had to resist the urge to scarf it down. “I hope you slept alright.” He poured you a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter to you with a smile. 

You took it gratefully, rolling the warm mug in your hands. “Better than I was expecting, honestly.” He smiled the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle up and your stomach flipped. “Thank you.” 

He came and sat beside you. “Anytime.” 

That day was busy. Matt took you to the courthouse to file for a short-term protection order until a longer lasting one could be arranged by a judge. The county clerk hadn’t hesitated to give the order, especially once she’d been shown the photographs and medical evidence. She’d finished signing the order before you’d even finished talking, and filed an official date for the hearing, four days from then. 

In the meantime, the clerk had advised that you not return home. Matt had insisted that you continue to stay with him, both for convenience regarding your case and, though he didn’t say it outright, for your protection. If you were honest with yourself, the idea of staying with Matt both pleased and scared the shit out of you. On the one hand, it meant being near him, and something about him made that prospect ridiculously enticing. On the other hand, though, it meant there was more time for him to end up disliking you, an irrational fear you knew was unwarranted but one that you carried nonetheless. Much to your surprise, Matt only seemed to warm up to you more. 

The second night you’d slept in the bathroom again, and this time Matt was prepared, the mattress made up and a laptop sitting on the side of the tub with Foggy’s Netflix loaded. He’d ordered pizza for the two of you and sat with you again watching (or listening to, on his part) funny movies with you until you fell asleep. The third night, you’d decided it was time to move back into the bedroom, a big step on your part. To help ease your mind, Matt moved his furniture around despite your protestations so that his couch was against the door to the bedroom, meaning that he was facing the front door. It had certainly helped, and you slept comfortably all through the night despite the impending possibility of seeing your husband the next day.

Jeremiah, unsurprisingly, hadn’t shown to the hearing. The court official who had delivered the papers insisted they had been successfully served the first day, so the judge had a warrant put out to have Jeremiah brought to court. It had taken another three days before they snagged him outside of his workplace.

The night before the official hearing, you couldn’t help but be terrified. Mahoney had called to tell Matt that they had Jeremiah in custody, so it was a sure thing he would be there at the hearing. As Matt relayed the message to you, you struggled to keep from crying, but once Matt’s hand touched your arm you’d lost it. Slumping into him, you’d trembled with sobs, clutching his shirt as he held you. Once you settled, he poured you a whiskey and secretly called Foggy and Karen to come over for dinner, an attempt to get your mind off of it. For a while, it worked. You’d managed to get pleasantly tipsy, enjoyed a good dinner and laughed at the stories they told you of their time together. But once you slid the door to the bedroom shut, the smile was wiped off your face, your breath coming out in short, trembling bursts. The reality of the situation had begun to set in. You would have to face him tomorrow. 

You tried to sleep. Really, you did. You’d been lying there for hours, tossing and turning, but every shadow was your husband, every noise outside was him trying to get in. Finally, you gave up and ventured into the living room with a blanket. You watched the street outside, the cars flying past, the random pedestrian drunkenly meandering the streets, silently praying they weren’t him. It took a long while before your eyes began to grow heavy, and you settled into one of the chairs sat across from the couch and watched Matt sleep. You fell asleep listening to his even breathing, the light of the billboard across the way illuminating his steady shoulders.

The few short hours of sleep you got were riddled with nightmares.


End file.
